


A Silent Scream To Shatter Glass

by MacabreMoth (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Goblet of Fire AU, Good Voldemort, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Necromancer Harry Potter, Possessive Voldemort, Sane Voldemort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:52:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6545698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/MacabreMoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer prior to his fourth year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter is kidnapped after the Dursley's kick him out for threatening to sic Sirius on them. He is set free only after he is pushed to the end of his sanity and forced to do terrible unspeakable things, just in time to meet his friends for the Quidditch World Cup. Determined to pretend nothing happened, Harry struggles to cope with the aftermath of his violent summer, but things take a dark turn when he is forced into a deadly tournament. The betrayal of his friends abandoning him in his hour of need pushes the boy-who-lived to the breaking point, and he finds himself taking comfort in the darkness he has long denied his affinity for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Silent Scream To Shatter Glass

#  _**A Silent Scream To Shatter Glass** _

###  _**By Macabre Moth** _

  **Chapter One - Unraveling The Web Of Lies**

**1994 -1995 School Year | Fourth Year**

**\----**

It is necessary to realize that there lies within every person, the potential for darkness and violence beyond what our own limited imagination can think up. It is through the experiences that shape who we become that determines whether or not we will ever touch that level of cruelty in our short lives. A few exceptions are made, of course, as there are in all instances. An example would be a person with a perfect life who burns an entire city to the ground for fun, or the one who's life is hell but still retains the kindness no one has ever shown them. Most never reach that level violent darkness, but those that do never return the same after it. Then there are those who come to that level of ultra-violence by the order of another, and they do not care if they have to slaughter every single person they come across if it means pleasing the one who gave them the order.

\--

The man who kidnaps Harry Potter at the beginning of the summer before his fourth year, is that last kind, though it is unclear whether he was a Death Eater in the first war, only given a place because Voldemort was in need of people capable of mindless violence as the end of his reign drew near, or simply a sympathizer trying to destroy the one who defeated the dark lord since none of his followers had the guts to do the violent deed. It makes more sense for him to be the former than the latter, a Death Eater out to please his master, spurred on by the spikes of burning his Dark Mark has been experiencing. It is a kinder reason then the later at least. Whatever the case, it does not change that he is a lunatic of a man, his magic lost to a broken vow, and he would do anything if it meant he could have magic once again, including torture and destroy a group of children.

He steals the boy-who-lived from the street on the first night of his summer vacation, the tenth of June, where Harry had been irately pacing the asphalt as he tried to figure out what he could do to survive, since his relatives had kicked him out without his wand or belongings. He is not the only one captured that night, nor is he considered any more or less important than his fellow stolen children, despite who he is to them, and despite the fact that none of the others would have been taken if not to cover his tracks. Not that anyone ever came looking for any of them. He is, however, the only one to survive as long as he does.

The things that happen in the white room are terrible, unspeakable, and it breaks them all. Harry Potter is the only one to walk out alive and stay as such, and it takes him years to come to a point where he is even partly willing to tell his story to more than one, and only to those who he had come to trust after the terrible events. In the end, though horrible the events were, it does not matter what they did to him. Not really. It does not matter that seventeen people caught between childhood and adulthood are tortured in every conceivable and inconceivable way possible, or that they were forced to do unspeakable acts to each other and others to keep their captor's insistent hands to himself, or even that in the end not one of those seventeen come out the same, most dying in the white room or committing suicide after they gave in to the man's demands and were set free.

What matters is that Harry Potter is set free. Time in the white room moves differently, so while for Harry it has been a little over two years, outside of the room only sixty-eight days, a mere two months and seven days to be exact, have passed by the time he is set free. His shackles are removed and he is pushed out the door, the man who would haunt every dream to his dying day laughing in the background, triumphant and harsh as he sets forth the boy he so utterly destroyed. Harry walks back home then, to get the things he left behind, determined to put it all behind him, determined to forget the feeling of hands and hot breath as the man hurt him, or the feeling of blood washing over him, or the taste of raw flesh on his tongue. It is his decision to pretend it never happened, and with this though in mind he walks back to where it began, and he knocks on the door of number four Privet drive, hoping his relatives did not move. No one comes, so he knocks once more, aware it is late. Petunia opens the door with eyes that go from narrowed in annoyance to wide with shock and what looks like fear. He doesn't blame her. He can only imagine what he looks like right now.

"Hi." He whispers. "Can I come in?"

He doesn't expect her to actually let him in, but he is grateful when she does.

**\--**

It is just a few minutes before midnight when the knock comes, and Petunia Evans Dursley frowns as she looks up at the door. She should be in bed at this hour, but she has been up all night trying to sort her affairs, what with the divorce and all. Vernon has Dudley tonight, and she only has tonight and tomorrow left in this house before she has to find a friend to stay with. The prenuptial agreement says that Vernon gets everything, the house, the car, Dudley. Petunia will leave with nothing but her possessions, only able to see her son on the weekends. Another knock brings her back to the present, and she stands and walks to the door, prepared to tell whoever is out there to go away.

The words die on her lips, and her eyes widen in horror. Her nephew stands on her doorstep, but he looks horrible. His skin is pale as snow and stretched over his bones, making him look like a skeleton. Dried and wet blood, too much to be just his own, bruises, fresh cuts, scars, and dirt cover his skin and the tattered shorts that are the only thing he is wearing. His left eye is dead, pale, foggy, and the pupil is milky, a starburst of fresh scaring surrounding the socket, and Petunia knows he is blind in it. His hair is dirty and greasy and longer than it should be since it has only been a month, with a few dried leaves, twigs, and something that looks suspiciously like a human finger in his tangled gravity-defying locks.

"Hi." his voice is a harsh rasping whisper. "Can I come in?"

"Yes." She says, not sure what else to do. Vernon kicked him out after he threatened to set his escaped convict of a Godfather on them, and Petunia had honestly expected he would show up two days later to get the stuff he left behind. Vernon burned it all that night of course, but nonetheless she still expected Harry would show up. She voices this thought, and he give a harsh bitter cough of a laugh. She thinks it sounds more like a death rattle than a laugh.

"I've been busy." he says, and he laughs once more as if he is joking about something that isn't even all that funny. "Better late than never." he shrugs.

Petunia shakes her head sadly. "Vernon burned everything." She reveals, and she feels guilty when he turns his emotionless eye, or rather eye, on her.

"What?" he snarls, and his voice is still just as quiet as it has been since he first showed up.

"After he kicked you out, Vernon took all of your stuff from the closet and burned it in the fireplace before he installed the new electric one." She says. "I'm sorry."

Instead of yelling, or crying, or reacting to that in any way, he simply nods. "Did he find the loose floorboard in my room?" He questions.

"Loose floorboard?" Petunia asks.

Her battered nephew grins, and it is not a pretty sight. His cracked, dried lips split apart with the harsh movement, parting into ugly deep cuts that drip thin lines and bubbles of blood down his chin, as his lips spread into the grin, and his teeth are dirty and sharpened to wicked raptorial points. The grin itself can only be likened to the smile the devil might give someone after they just unwittingly sold their soul to him.

"I'll take that as a no." He says and walks off. Petunia follows after him, despite the fear making her heart beat fast as a jackhammer behind her ribs, because she is too curious for her own good. In his old room, Harry moves his old bed and pulls up the floorboards, revealing a small cache of treasures. It isn't much, as far she can tell, an odd silvery bunch of fabric, a black piece of parchment, some ink and a quill, and a small black leathery bag the size of a wallet. He removes all of these things, then digs around in the bag, and pulls out some soap and clothes that she knows should not fit inside it. "Can I borrow the bathroom?" He asks. "I need a shower."

Petunia can only nod, and she wonders what the hell happened to him as he pushes past her and slams the washroom door shut.

\--

Four hours later, the two are sitting on the couch, side by side, sipping tea. They have been silent for three hours, nothing but a few meaningless words exchanged between the sound of pens scratching at paper. Shortly before they sat down Petunia had given him the letter his friends had sent, and she doesn't know what it said, but Harry told her that he would be leaving tomorrow to go to his friends house, so she suspects it was a good thing she saved it. He sent the letter off with an unfamiliar owl, and then joined Petunia on the couch, where neither one of them has moved from since. Petunia sneaks short glances at her nephew from the corners of her eyes while she works, or over the top of her tea cup while she sips. Cleaned up, he looks no better than he had covered in dirt, blood, and god only knows what else. The cuts are all crudely stitched up. The scars are all an angry purple-pink color, only barely healed, and very new. Their are bruises of varying degrees of healing, including some sickening ones like hand prints on his hips peaking out over the top of his trousers. He isn't wearing a shirt, but Petunia doesn't blame him with as many injuries as he is sporting. It's surprising that he's wearing trousers at all, to be perfectly honest.

Harry lets out a sudden put-off sigh, and turns to stare at her. "Stop." He says.

Petunia blinks. "Stop?" She parrots in confusion.

"Stop looking at me like that." He answers. "I get it. I'm a terrifying mess. You won't have to see me after tonight, so do me a favor and pretend it doesn't bother you for one bloody night, or just fucking ask. I really can't stand being watched like a fish in a bowl."

Petunia gets that, so she nods. She points to a black tattoo on the inside of his left wrist, a depiction of a snake eating its tail no bigger than a Irish Two-Pence coin. "What's this?" She decides to start with.

Harry sighs. "A reminder." He whispers. "The ouroboros is a symbol of infinity, resurrection, and some say immortality. It's hard to explain if you weren't there."

Another long uncomfortable silence, and then Petunia tries again. "What happened to you?"

He laughs then, and it sounds strangled and harsh, almost like someone has grabbed his vocal cords. "Nothing I am willing to explain to you." He answers, and then he gets up and leaves the room.

Petunia sighs when she hears a door slam shut upstairs, and she turns back to her paperwork. She can't concentrate, so she goes to bed as well. When she wakes up at eight in the morning, there is a plate of oddly piping hot food on the table, clean dishes in the rack, and Harry is no where to be found.

His lack of presence is more of a shock than it has any right to be.

\--

Harry sits in the Leaky Cauldron, patiently waiting for the Weasley's to come pick him up. He had not mentioned anything about how he spent his summer, instead lying to them that the reason for having them meet at the pub had to do with the move and the divorce. He should tell them, but he doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to speak about it. As imprudent as the decision to keep them in the dark seems, it is the very foundation of his plan to act as if nothing happened to him. A few vastly illegal potions healed quite a bit of the effects of two years, or two months depending on the point of view, of starvation and torture easily, although Harry would be in much more pain right now if it were not for the, also extremely against the law, pain potions he took shortly after he took the potion. He will have to take these same potions once a week for the next four months or so to heal all the effects, but with the addition of his brand new actually fitting clothes, and the fact that it is a slow process, the first of the potions he took having been sped up by another potion so the Weasley's would not freak out on him, he hopes everyone will be too distracted to realize.

The floo roars to life, and Harry looks up at the sound like he has been doing for the last hour. His group steps out of the floo one by one, first Arthur, then Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. They look around the pub for him, and completely overlook him, sitting all alone in the shadows, just like everyone else has been doing since he arrived. It's kind of freeing, to sit amongst these people and not be mobbed for something he didn't even do. Sure, surviving the killing curse is a pretty impressive feat, but he didn't defeat Voldemort as a fifteen month old infant, no matter what these fickle bastards seem to think. After watching ten minutes of them being almost painfully oblivious of him, Harry decides to take pity on his friends.

He walks up to the six, and he taps the girls on the shoulder. Both turn and look at him with wide eyes. "Miss me ladies?" He grins, and he almost feels like himself again.


End file.
